


Lights Inside Our Eyes - Please Forgive Their Faults

by Krasimer



Series: The Summerhold Chronicles [11]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: And get thrown through time to find them, Fan Characters, Ghosts have teachers with similar powers, M/M, Not Phantom Planet Compliant, Rescue Missions, Which is how really young/new ghosts end up centuries back, xwocketx
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7017307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krasimer/pseuds/Krasimer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fact one: Every ghost with a particular level of power gets a teacher. </p><p>Fact two: You hardly ever see a ghost from an earlier century than the 20th.</p><p>Fact three: Corrupted officials always make things messy.</p><p>Fact four: There are ghosts who are locked away that shouldn't be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rescue and Worries

"Do you really suppose we might be forgotten?"

It was a whisper, a lilt of words that struggled to hide the fear the speaker felt, but no amount of bravado could cover up that core-deep terror. Dark-red eyes followed the movements of the slighter ghost, his hands wispy at the edges as he traced his fingers over the corners of his book. The habit was from his early days as the Ghostwriter, and both of them knew it meant something of a storm inside of him.

"I almost hope for it," he whispered back, looking over at the Bringer of Storms, the Anemoi, the Thunderer. "Boreas, what if they come find us again? There was the terror from the humans at our hands not too long ago, there was someone in our very minds telling us that we should destroy based on a false sense of loss!"

"I know, my Erato," Boreas drew him closer, wincing at the soreness of his form. "We may be hunted after this. We were before, it is nothing new, the future will hold no surprises for us."

Erato laughed, phasing his hands into the still damaged parts of Boreas and concentrating. After a few moments, the skin looked normal again in some spots. 

"Hey," Boreas pulled away, taking Erato's hands in his own. "Not worth it, let me heal on my own. We may have a fight ahead of us, and I do not want for you to do anything but go down fighting as much as you can. You fight, punch, bite, kick, whip your powers around you until they decide to leave you alone, I do not care. All that matters is keeping yourself alive. We've done it once before, even if it ended up with us in the prison of the Council."

"I suppose that now is a silly time to point out the contradiction of your words?" Erato smiled for him, allowing his book to be settled in his lap. Boreas knew better than to take it completely from him, centuries of knowing each other had taught him well. 

"It is," Boreas pressed his face close to Erato's, took in his familiar scent, the scent of old books and ink and his own particular smell, "But I want to hear you say it anyways."

Another laugh trickled out of Erato, and his smile grew bigger. "We are ghosts, deceased as we are, we cannot stay alive."

"There he is," came the whisper from the ghost of storms. "There's my writer."

They curled closer, tucked themselves further into the cloud cover they were hiding in, waiting for daylight to arrive.

 

XxXxX

 

"You're sure it was them?"

Danny nodded, "I'm sure. Maelstorm's powers are weather, just like yours, right? During the fight against Rewind, there was basically a hurricane coming down on top of us. Not only did we have to deal with the psychotic ghost, but we also had to dodge flying debris and creatures popping up out of nowhere because they were written as existing."

"That's..." Vortex took a deep breath, unnecessary and raspy. "They've been found. Could have sworn they were gone forever."

"The Observants had them," Danny twisted his hands together nervously, "They were locked away in some sort of special prison. Pretty sure the Observants have to go through and re-trial every last ghost they have locked up, considering the guy who did all of the damage was one of them," he frowned. "The guy gave Rewind a key to the prison."

"Re-trial means safety for some of us," Vortex chuckled, curling his legs closer to his chest. "I may have to face one if it comes to that. Of course, my situation is just a little different..."

With a snort, Danny nearly doubled over, "Yeah, Vlad and I have talked about that."

"I am sort of sorry," Vortex crossed his arms over his chest, his temper appearing for a moment. "I don't mean sorry for lashing out, but I am sorry you got caught up in it. I didn't-" he growled, averting his eyes. "You weren't the one I was angry at, not really. I was just _so **MAD**_ , and I couldn't make myself calm down."

"Don't worry," Danny patted his shoulder. "I don't blame you for that one. The frootloop and I have a lot to talk about, and that is one of those things."

"I worry about the small writer," Vortex said, his voice suddenly soft. "His teacher was softer, and he was always softer, and neither of them should be left alone."

"Your teacher and his are together, right?"

"Yes."

"You guys practically got to be siblings then. I think?" Danny frowned, then stretched his back, spine popping. "Right now, he's got my old teacher from high school watching after him. Also," he stood up, then yawned. "You and Nocturne have been hanging out more, right?"

Vortex's eyes lit up as if lightning flashed behind them, a grin stretching his mouth. "Ah," he whispered, "The beautiful ghost of night and dreams. We have been speaking more, and I think I annoy him slightly, but he is lovely and we have been talking." he shifted, his eyes soft as he thought, "Why do you ask?"

"What-" Danny grumbled something, rubbing at his face. "Did he have a teacher?"

"He had one."

Both of them turned to the door, Danny's eyebrows jumping almost to his hairline as he looked at Clockwork and Dan. "Yeah?"

"The ghost who taught Nocturne to control his powers was...Somewhat psychotic. They took him somewhere and locked him away," Clockwork's eyes were narrowed, the grip he held his staff in almost choking the wood, "My own teacher was enamoured and nearly heartbroken enough to Fade when he vanished. When I was given the title of Time Keeper, my own teacher lashed out at the Observants and let them take him away as well."

Danny closed his eyes, biting down the words on the tip of his tongue as his fists clenched.

"We've actually been trying to figure out how to find them and bring them back. After what Rewind did, helped by the prick who went renegade," Dan growled, his own fists clenching in a mimic of Danny's, "We figure that there is not much of a chance they'll let us comb through their 'precious prisoners' to find the ones who don't- To find the ones who need to be let out. They locked Nocturne's teacher up for a reason, and as understandable as it is, it's quite frankly stupid."

Vortex's tail whipped around impatiently, "Are we trying to bring back the teachers and those imprisoned by the betrayer? If so, we could just have them re-trial them."

Clockwork's grin was viciously victorious.

"You know," Danny began, cautiously. "For a ghost who isn't supposed to show bias towards events in a timeline, you certainly show quite a bit."


	2. Let Me Be In Love With You

"You aren't really okay, are you?"

Sidney remembers Freddy asking him that one day, a concerned look on the other boy's face. His eyes were narrowed with worry, his entire body tense as he clenched his hands tighter around a football.

He remembers having shrugged off the question, eyes sliding to the side to look into his locker. 

"Pointdexter?"

Sidney shuddered, looking over his shoulder at Freddy. "Hey." he smiled, holding out a hand to the other ghost. "It looks like Danny and the other Halfa might actually be getting somewhere in their relationship." he gestured down at the section of the Fenton lab that was a training area. His own perch was one of the hoops mounted on the wall, a feat only possible due to his ghostly status.

"Neato," Freddy grinned, taking Sidney's hand in his own as he settled in behind him, curling around him protectively. "What were ya thinkin' about?"

"Just...History, I guess." 

The noose around Freddy's neck swung to one side as he tilted his head. "...Our history?"

"I actually remember it now," Sidney whispered, leaning back into his arms and watching Danny's hand glow, ectoplasm-green ice forming as he launched himself towards Vlad. Both of them were grinning as they sparred, and they seemed to be having a good time of it. "I didn't before, not until they made me go to you." 

He sighed, then shrugged. "I guess I'm just kind of thinkin' that I should have actually talked to the jock when I was alive."

Erupting into laughter, Freddy pressed his face into Sidney's shoulder. "I still think I should have tried harder to convince the nerd that I was bein' sincere." he grinned again, wider and happier this time. "I also should have gone to the principal with complaints about our nurse, because woah-boy was that an oversight."

"Now, that isn't your fault." Sidney pouted slightly.

Freddy shifted so that he could face him. "If I had been less concerned with keeping an image up, then she wouldn't have been able to- to-" he gestured at the smaller ghost, a broad sweep of his hand encompassing almost all of him. "There'd be a pulse in that body of yers."

"Or you would have been sent away, leaving me to become a ghost alone and go completely off the rails." Sidney rubbed the palm of his hand roughly against his upper arm, a nervous look on his face. “I’ve heard stories like that, you know. Ghosts going…Kooky. Too long along and they get crazy and then they aren’t all there anymore. I’m pretty sure I was going to be like that if I’d been left in the school for too much longer…”

“Danny wouldn’t have let you,” Freddy made a halted gesture, looking like he wanted to put a hand on Sidney’s neck and draw him closer. “He’s a good guy.”

“I attacked him when we first met because I thought he was like your old teammates.” Sidney looked away again, frowning. “He was getting revenge on someone who had hurt him and I acted just like…Like the guys who used to shove me into a locker. I’m no better than them,” his shoulders came up, his head dropping almost to his chest in shame. “I would have left him in the echo of our school and with the echoes of our classmates, looking like me, just to try and ‘teach him a lesson’. I’m no better than the guys who hurt me all the time.”

“Hey,” Freddy shook his head. “Look at me, Pointdexter.” He reached up and put his hand on Sidney’s jaw, drawing him up and meeting his eyes. “Look at me. Got your attention?”

Sidney blinked a couple of times.

Freddy took a moment to study his face, smile at the increased color of him. The monotone look of him was gone, the echo of an era long since passed leeching from him and leaving him in modern color. He wasn’t stuck entirely in the past anymore. “You were going crazy, stuck in a mirror, trapped with the echoes of a group of people who hurt you so bad that a crazy demon lady was able to get into your noggin and spin you around until you couldn’t see up or down anymore. You apologized to him, right?”

“…Yeah.”

“Has he accepted it?”

“Yeah,” Sidney let himself smile. “And he helped me find you again! I didn’t think that would happen, I didn’t think you liked me like that, I never would’ve thought that you…And I…Could…” his cheeks were a faint green color, ectoplasm swirling beneath what passed for skin. “I mean. A guy like you?”

“Ain’t no other way to swing, daddy-o, not for me,” Freddy laughed, pressing a quick kiss to Sidney’s nose. “Friend of Dorothy’s or not, I still think there ain’t a life or world out there where I wouldn’t find you and hang around you.” He shrugged when Sidney’s eyes went wide. “Hey, I happen to be real fond of you, no matter the circumstances. I died in the basement of the school, I fixated on you so much that when I became a ghost, it was where you had died.”

“The girls told me,” Sidney bit his bottom lip. “That there were sightings of you before. At the school. The most famous one was apparently when you showed up on the front steps, asking if they’d seen a guy. You cut out before the name was said.”

“…I don’t know if I remember that,” Freddy pouted this time, drawing Sidney back into his arms and sighing, putting his chin on the other ghost’s head. “But that’s where you…I mean…”  
“Yeah,” Sidney curled their fingers together. “Yeah.”

They watched Danny and Vlad for a few more minutes until Danielle hopped in between them and called for a break. Freddy closed his eyes, just focusing on the places he was in contact with Sidney, ectoplasm shifting and coursing through him. He still felt how he looked; lighter than air and far too fragile, but he was so much better than he had been.

“We could always ask that teacher,” Sidney said quietly. “The dead one, I mean. He used to be Danny’s teacher. I think he went to school at Casper high.”

“It’s a thought,” Freddy nodded slowly. “We probably should.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The return of my OC Freddy and his adoring love for the nerdy Pointdexter!
> 
> Hope Y'all enjoyed this chapter. I'll be getting more out soon, probably. My mind decided to detour from the stuff I wanted to work on and if I don't go along with the hostage demands, it's going to feel like pulling teeth trying to write anything. Might as well just let a hyper-fixation happen until I feel like writing the others again.


	3. Hear My Soul Speak

The library of Amity Park, Henry Walters decided, was a gorgeous building filled to the brim with even more gorgeous books.

Every last inch of it was filled with the written and bound word, every shelf stuffed near over-flowing with the words that so many had sent out into the world to be a cherished light amongst so much darkness. Even those that were not as such 'good' books by the esteem of the common man were wonderful. They were things that someone had taken the time to sit down and write, things that hadn't existed before someone had put their thoughts to paper.

They were lovely in their entirety, even if some of the writing was fairly heavy-handed and tough to get through.

Some of them could do, perhaps, with a little more research behind them, but oh, the possibilities of the format were almost endless! The third Halfa, the girl, walked alongside him as he stared up at the grand windows of the building, his eyes wide and focused only on the structure.

"You can go in, y'know." she grinned when he finally looked at her, nudging gently at his arm. "You're allowed to, and since you're human right now, no one's gonna scream about you being there."

Henry nodded, pausing at the first step.

"Go on!" she urged him, biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing. "Seriously, no one's gonna stop you. You're allowed to go in and read and, hell, even make an account and check out books."

"...Thank you, Danielle." he whispered, voice shaking as he turned back to the building and walked slowly up the steps, watching as she darted back to his side. "Can't get out of watching me for today? I know I'm not the most exciting of those who need to be watched over, but surely you could be excused for leaving me along in the library for a few hours."

"What, and miss the chance to see you realize that there's no Warden to stop you from taking the books with you?" Dani outright laughed, covering her mouth delicately. "Sorry, that was rude."

Shaking his head, Henry nearly missed the next step. "Not in the least."

"You've been stuck under the rules of Walker for too long," Dani continued, helping him stay upright. Her hand stayed on his arm, a steadying force as he finally made it to the door. She allowed him to open it, then whispered. "And Danny wouldn't forgive me if I left you here alone. What if something happened to you? No, I'm just gonna be in a different part of the library, and I'll make sure I know where you are."

"That actually makes me feel better about this excursion." Henry smiled at her, taking a deep breath of the slightly-stagnant air. "Oh but is there any better scent than that of a building full of books?"

Dani giggled, tugging him away from the door. "Anywhere in particular that you wanted to start?"

"If you could guide me to where the Bard's works are stored, that would be wonderful."

Walking backwards, Dani tugged him along, explaining various things about the room as they went. The computers were of a newer make and model than he had even seen, and there were things called 'tablets' that seemed to be smaller computers that could be held in hand.

Eventually Dani settled him at a small table, walking three steps over and plopping a hand on the shelf in front of her. "Here's the Shakespeare stuff. They've got all of the newer editions of things, and they've got the collected works, and this entire shelf," she motioned at the one her hand had been resting on. "Is all of what they have of him. It's probably not that impressive, but I think we could manage to harrass Vlad into buying copies of what they don't have and storing them in his place for you."

That drew a laugh from Henry, and he left his bag on the table as he stood and walked over to select one. "Thank you, truly."

She ruffled his hair, tugged once on the ponytail he wore, then saluted and walked away.

 

He had immersed himself at once, reaching instantly for the volume of collected works, hands tracing reverently over each page, and was nearly a quarter of the way through the tome when he spotted someone else browsing the shelf it lived on.

It was an older gentleman, not of an age to have silvered hair yet, but by the human lifespan, it was likely that he was about halfway through. His eyes were intelligent as they scanned the spines of the books, his glasses perched upon his nose in a manner that suggested they had been hastily shoved there. He wore a buttoned shirt and a pair of slacks, the hems of them neatly sewn by hand, and he frowned when his questing fingers fell slack against the shelf.

"Damn," he muttered, and Henry's gaze rose again, landing on his face. "Someone must have checked it out."

Standing from his seat for the first time, Henry cleared his throat gently and offered forward the book, smiling when the man turned to look at him. "Sorry, many apologies for interrupting. Is this what you're looking for?"

The man nodded slowly, turning his entire body to face Henry. "Yes, it is, actually." he smiled back. "You're a fan as well?"

"Oh," Henry chuckled. "He writes marvelous drama and although I could stand for a little less insanity on the parts of some of his characters, there is very little I love more than re-visiting his works." he closed the book, some part of him protesting at the thought of giving it up, then walked around the table and held it out with both hands. "But from the tone of your utterance, I presume you might need the comfort of his words far more than I do. Besides," he gestured at the shelf. "There are others I could read."

"My copy of this particular book suffered a miserable death earlier today." the man said as he took the book, his hands briefly touching over Henry's fingers. "I am still trying to understand exactly how it happened, but as it stands, it is unreadable. As my plans for tonight had been to make dinner and then spend the rest of the evening reading it, I decided to go find a copy at the library, rather than spending forty dollars on something like this."

Henry nodded. "Then as a fellow fan of the Bard's works, I am almost obligated to release it to you for your reading pleasure."

"You don't need to if you don't want to." the man answered, a pleasant look to him as he offered it back. The knuckles of his left hand had ink on them, as if he had spent time with them pressed against a page, a pen in his hand. It was obvious that he spent time writing, that much was true.

"How does this sound," Henry offered instead. "You take it with you for your plans tonight, then bring it back and let me enjoy it in a few days? I've already had time to read it today, and I must admit that I read in depth rather than skimming."

"Alright." he nodded, sticking out his other hand. "My name's William Lancer, by the way."

Taking his hand, Henry grinned. "Henry Walters."

"It's wonderful to meet you, Henry. Tell me," Lancer began as he made his way towards the table that Henry had been sitting at. "Are you new to town? I have never seen you around here before. I mean, it's only barely a small city, but it still stands to reason that I would have seen you somewhere before."

"I've been here and there." Henry answered vaguely, going to sit down again. "I recently moved in a few days ago, and I don't know how long I will be staying for, but for the foreseeable future, I am a member of this city."

"I hope it will be enjoyable for you." Lancer smiled. "Would it be all right if I joined you? You said something about insanity in Shakespeare’s works, and I wanted to ask what you might consider that to be." when Henry nodded and gestured for him to pull out a chair, he did, sliding into it with the sigh of a man relieved to be off of his feet.

"What I consider to be insanity is in the contents of what is perhaps my least favorite of his works." Henry began, reaching over to tap the cover of the book. "Romeo and Juliet. Some scholars agree that he's nineteen, she's thirteen. Yes, they consider themselves to be in love, but there is no semblance of reality to it. If they get caught together before their grand plan is enacted, especially with the stunt he pulls in going to her room, then there is no chance of her father finding her a good match."

"Because there would be no way to prove the purity of his daughter." Lancer filled in, nodding along to Henry's words. "Archaic and somewhat awful, perhaps, but it makes sense."

Henry laughed, licking his lips as he closed his eyes for a moment. In doing so, he missed the other man's gaze following the movement of his tongue. "The entirety of the story takes place over three days and several people end up dead."

"Oh but the folly of youth!" Lancer mocked, laughing as well. "And in one movie adaptation, she is laying on what he thinks is her death bed and she wakes up and touches his arm as he goes to drink the poison. In that one, it is implied that it is her at fault for his death, as well as his fault for not understanding that she's intelligent in her own right."

"Isn't that the understanding in every version of it?" Henry asked, propping his chin in his hand. "And do you suppose the library has a copy of that? I would love to see it."

"You haven't?" Lancer raised an eyebrow, setting the book on the table. "Here, one second."

He rummaged around in his pocket, pulling a small notebook and a pen out with a triumphant noise. "If you are staying in town for a while, I see no harm in letting you borrow my copy of it. I must warn you, however, that it strays from the typical adaptation. It is set in the nineteen-nineties, and it substitutes the nobility for warring gang families. By far the most faithful translation of word to screen, it has the most accurate script." he scribbled something on a piece of paper, then ripped it out of the notebook. "That's my contact information. Email me this weekend and I'll figure out a way to get it to you."

"Getting it to me probably will not be the issue." Henry took the paper almost reverently, unable to stop the bashful smile on his face. "If it is any good, getting it away from me might be."

Lancer laughed again, a rough sound that made Henry feel somehow safe. "I will understand if I have to find you and take it back myself then." he sobered slightly, tilting his head. "Where do you live? I should probably have that for future reference."

"I live with Mister Masters, currently. I'm something of a cousin and a family friend, all at once." Henry felt the cover story slip from his mouth easily, was glad when Lancer's face settled into something that seemed almost impressed. "I got into town and needed a place to stay, so one was offered to me there."

"So the Masters and the Walters are related? Interesting family tree."

"Tell me about it." Henry snorted, rolling his eyes. "The man is arrogant and odd, and sometimes a pain to deal with. Deep down, I think he might be lonely, and I can understand that."

"Why is loneliness something you can understand?" was Lancer's immediate question, and for a moment he looked shocked that he had actually asked that. "Sorry. None of my business. I shouldn't have asked." his movement following it could be termed a 'flail', the awkwardness that he assumed getting to him. "I just would have thought that you would have- Never mind."

Henry reached over, putting his hand on Lancer's wrist. The man's skin was warm, and he took a second to relish the physical contact that wasn't cold and unforgiving. "It's fine. I've lived a secluded life, and I must admit that I've become something of a hermit in recent times."

"It seems that's the way things go." Lancer answered softly, turning his hand slowly so that his fingers met Henry's.

"You're a writer, aren't you?" Henry grinned, trying to bring the conversation back up. "The ink on your hands tells a story for you, as does the notebook that you carry in your pocket." he let his thumb rub gently at the joint of Lancer's thumb.

"An aspiring one." he chuckled, some of the bone-deep sadness leaving his face. "I decided a few years ago to try to actually write and finish any one of the many book ideas I have had over the decades, and it's honestly a lot more difficult to finish one than I thought it would be. I've tried to write a lot of things, but they all eventually wind up bringing me back to the idea of writing books." he used his other hand to push his glasses back up, a small smile coming back to light up his face. "I mainly teach English, but they have me in several classrooms, and being a teacher also leaves little time for personal pursuits."

"I could think of little else suited to you but English, what with your fondness for the language." Henry tapped the cover of the book, then lay his other hand over Lancer's as well. "As for the loneliness..."

"Yes?"

"Do you think I could help with that?" he could feel his face almost burning as he asked the question. "It's just that I have no plans for tonight, and I enjoyed our time together today. I apologize if it's entirely too forward, or unwelcome in any way, and I know it pushes your plans out of the way, but-"

Lancer's breath came out harshly, his eyes wide as he clasped his other hand over both of Henry's. "I would be delighted if you could, Henry."

"Pick me up here, around six? I suppose that gives me enough time to get ready and get my wits about me." Henry laughed when Lancer nodded. "Must have those if I'm to dine in such wonderfully intelligent company. And," he pulled his hands back, motioning for the notebook and pen. "If you'll allow me."

When it was handed over, he jotted down the number for the house phone. "Call this number and ask for me. I have not yet gotten access to a computer that I can use reliably, so this is the best bet."

They both stood at the same time, Lancer taking his hand again and performing an odd little half-bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Henry Walters. I look forward to seeing you tonight."

"I must admit to the same feelings of pleasure upon meeting you, William Lancer."

 

“Wait, wait, what?” Danny looked at Henry, then at Dani, his eyes wide. “You have a date with Lancer?”

“Yes,” Henry swallowed nervously, hugging his bag to his chest. “Tonight. At six. I think we are going to have dinner? But I am…Unprepared. For this. I mean,” he took a gasp of air, his eyes even wider than Danny’s. “I don’t know anything about pop culture? Modern pop culture, that is…I just…How do I speak with someone about modern events and writings if I do not know of them myself?”

“Just stick to Shakespeare and stuff,” Dani grinned and patted his back. “I mean, the two of you got along well enough by talking about that, right?”

“But what if he wants to discuss something I do not know?” Henry pushed the heel of his palm into his jaw. “I am completely unprepared for anything besides older adaptations of the stories of the Bard and discussing my own life is a disaster waiting to happen.” He screwed up his face, then pitched his voice a little higher. “Oh, you know, I was born and I starved to death while freezing in a winter about twenty years before you were born. Oh, how am I here right now, then? Well, some maniac stole the ghost of Time’s staff and used it to reset the personal timelines of several ghosts. Ah, see, there he goes,” he flung a hand out in a defeated gesture. “Running out the door because not only do I sound _insane_ , but I know he fears ghosts.”

“Then just…” Danny made a face, a frustrated sort of gesture. “Make an excuse. The Walters family grew up in a secluded area or something. Not a lie, technically?”

“Technically,” Henry rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. “I did, in fact, grow up in a smaller and secluded area. My family did not have many of the amenities that others had, even in the time. My father had died in the war, my mother raised us as best she could with what minimal salaried work she could get.”

“So just tell him you grew up in the country, homeschooled, without wifi. Your mom’s taste in things influenced what you consumed.” Dani shrugged one of her shoulders and Henry laughed a little.

“I could get away with it, perhaps,” Henry released his bottom lip to say. “Tell him that I moved in with my cousin to have someplace to stay while the will and testament of my mother is dealt with. She passed on and there is some question about whether the land she owned is mine or not.”

Danny nodded. “See? That works.”

Henry nodded as well, twisting his hands together. “Born and raised without much technology, influenced by someone else’s interests…That will work,” he smiled, chuckling a little. “Is there anything I _should_ know?”

“Lancer loves books and writing and people who actually try when it comes to things that scare or panic them.” Danny leaned back against a wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “He did the best he could to get me through school. I kind of wish I could go back and make myself do better, but I still did pretty good, I think. Passed Junior and Senior year with Bs and Cs.” He grinned. “Lancer said he was proud of me for that.”

“Anything else?”

“Just take a couple of deep breaths, get him talking about the books you both like, continue on from there. Explain the tech thing, as we decided it, and have him tell you about a lot of things,” Dani clapped a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Maybe go for a kiss at the end of the night, if that feels like something you both want.”

“Oh,” Danny raised his hand a little, catching Henry’s attention again. “How old are you?”

Henry paused, cocking his head to one side as he thought. “I was thirty-three when I died,” he said slowly, almost unsure. “How old is he?”

“In his forties, but that is not going to be a problem, I think.” Danny paused, then nodded. “I mean, if he’s willing to sit there and flirt while you look so much younger than him, I think the fact that you’re thirty-three will come as a relief? You look younger than that.”

“Okay, so,” Dani grinned at Danny. “We need to get you dressed.”

“Am I to play the role of Cinderella, then?” Henry huffed out a laugh. “Prepared and dressed for a wonderful party, a night out at a fanciful ball?”

Danny shrugged. “Maybe. But we need to find you an outfit that will make you look awesome for him.” He paused, frowning. “I’m setting up my old teacher’s date. Why is my life this weird?”

“Because you stepped into a portal without checking that it wouldn’t do something to you,” Dani raised her eyebrows at him. “Now let us get him ready for his date.”

The three of them wandered off, chatting quietly all the way.

 

When Henry got home that night, he practically had hearts in his eyes, along with the promise of a second date in about a week.

“How’d it go?” Dani asked, her arms crossed and supporting her head on the edge of the table. Danny sat across from her, next to Wilson. Both of them looked up from the papers they had spread out on the table and, for a second, Henry could have sworn they looked near-identical. “Because you kind of look like you’re going to go floating off.”

“It went _well._ ” Henry laughed a little, clutching his hands to his chest. “We’re meeting in five days for a second date – a second date! Me! And him!” he laughed again, moving to an empty chair and dropping down into it. “We spoke of our shared interests, of the writing we’ve done, of the books we love – and he seemed genuinely interested in me.” He sighed, propping his chin in his hand. “I am thankful I met him, he is _wonderful._ ”

Something in Henry’s expression shifted and his shoulders slumped. “And if I ever return to being a ghost, he will be frightened of me. Terrified, even.”

“Hey,” Danny leaned forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You like him, right?”

“Oh, very much so.”

“Then it’s worth it. Even when – or if – you go back, you’ll figure it out then.” Danny smiled at him, clenching his hand on Henry’s shoulder for a second. “And I don’t think he’ll freak out so much if he knows it’s _you_. Just…If the time comes, tell him. Make sure he knows you’re you and that you don’t want to hurt him.”

Henry nodded, taking a deep breath. “Then I will endeavor to have hope, Danny.”

“Good,” Dani grinned at him. “Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all wanted the return of the Lancer/GhostWriter pairing, right? I mean, I was excited for it, so here.
> 
> Have their first meeting and some talk about their first date.


	4. Loved The Stars Too Fondly

They still could not understand him.

He spoke in the words he had been raised knowing, the languages he had learned, in an attempt to get them to understand. His childhood had been split between what could have been counted as two different worlds, between his mother’s lands and learnings and his father’s ways. His mother had been a Hellenes, raised in the temples and in service of them. His father had been a Varangian, had traveled to Hellas.

When his mother had passed away, his father had taken him away from Hellas, to the man’s own home. It had been a long journey and he had been a child. He remembered it now, remembered being raised in worship of Nótt.

His father had called his mother as if she were a human vessel of Nótt, had loved her and devoted himself to her.

And now, the Phantom child could not understand him. He knew, of course, that the English he had spoken had only been grasped as a dreamer, but it still frustrated him. He was trapped in the languages he knew and they were trapped in theirs. If he was to speak with them, someone was going to have to learn a language.

The courageous one, however, seemed to understand what he tried to tell them.

Oh yes, he knew who the one in armor was, the odd spikes of hair and the signage on the metal making him all too obvious. The ghost of storms, powerful and beautiful in ordinary circumstances, if perhaps a bit annoying, was devastatingly lovely when his form was trapped in one shape, unable to call on his weather. Perhaps it was the storm in his eyes, the hurricane of anger and barely-caged power, but he was lovely. He told him so in his father’s tongue, often, how he wanted to hold him, kiss him, be held to him and watch him reach a release of the storm inside of him.

Crude, perhaps, but he was frustrated and none could understand him.

His father’s tongue was a strangeness they could not seem to place with him, and he used it almost rebelliously. If they were going to ignore him, he would ignore them and force them to look up languages and try to translate him.

“You know,” he spoke with a softer cadence than he spoke to Phantom and his family, slipping into his mother’s tongue. “If I could see where you live, I could surely make it a home for the both of us.” He watched the ghost-who-wasn’t stretching himself, making sure his body could move. “If you would be aware of what I meant, perhaps we could make our existence together.”

The storm bringer, the student of the Anemoi, the one who had brought near-ruin to the one whose house they stayed in, stopped in his steps. “Do you think so?” he said, his words lilting. He stepped closer, kneeling and reaching a hand for the other. “Our existence is so achingly fragile right now, trapped in bodies that will rot if we live in them long enough. I already lived through until my death at the hands of Time.”

It was the language of his mother’s people and his breath caught in his throat when he realized it. “You speak-”

 _“Yes,”_ the lightning-handed, the wind-breathed looked up at him, brown eyes glittering in the light of the room. “You have been speaking something else this entire time, but I heard phrases here and there of Greek. I could not be certain, but I waited _. I waited._ Until I knew. You stole my patience, dream-walker, nightmare-shaper, beloved midnight.” He shuddered on his breath. “We only have limited time, I know this, but we have what we have now.”

“What do I call you?”

Brown eyes mischievous, the storm-bringer looked up at him, still almost unbearably fond. “Díni. What name do I put to such a lovely face?” his hands trailed over the constellations of light spots on darker skin, traced the night sky that marked itself on his body. “Lovely as you are, I only know the name they gave you in their tongue.”

“Nychterinó,” he answered and Díni’s face was nearly split by his smile. “I have met you before, Díni. You do not act so clearheaded. It has landed you in much trouble with the Observants.”

“They are the reason I do not act as I should,” Díni’s eyes darkened and he looked nearly murderous. “They attacked my teacher and myself, the one I would call my brother. His teacher as well. I do not know _why_ , but they tried to rip us apart and nearly succeeded. My teacher and his were locked away, brought into battle by our newest enemy.”

“Your teacher was Maelstrom,” Nychterinó frowned, tracing over the warrior’s face with a gentle hand. “The other was the Writer.” He let himself settle on the floor, pulling the former ghost of storms with him.

Díni’s head came to rest in his lap, the man letting a wistful sigh come from deep inside of him. “Yes.” He looked up, brown eyes meeting nearly black. “Do you remember your old life? Mine still evades me at times. I remember being a fighter, that was the reason Maelstrom chose me as his student. Something about the storm within.”

“There are things I forget,” Nychterinó ran his hands through Díni’s hair, smoothing it down before ruffling it back up again. “My mother told me something I needed to remember, but I have forgotten what that is. It involves my true name, the one my father never used.”

“Can you communicate in any way?” Díni frowned, reaching up to brush hair out of the dreamer’s face. It was long and as smooth as silk. “With them, I mean. I suspect you cannot, but if they had offended you, I think you would do it deliberately.” He smiled, a toothy sort of grin, and Nychterinó felt his heart clench. “Spiteful and beautiful, oh, I know of you, dream-bringer.”

“I had learned their language,” Nychterinó sighed, casting a baleful glance around the room. “But only in my form of dreams. You dream in what language you need to, even if it is not one you truly know.”

“Tell me if there is anything you have need of,” Díni breathed the words out, their eyes meeting once more. “Anything you need, anything you desire, anything that I may provide, I will provide it. If flesh is what you wish, I will offer it. If it can only be gained from them, I will speak with them.”

“You sound devotional,” Díni laughed when he said that and Nychterinó wanted nothing more than to wrap himself around the weather-rider, the storm-bringer. Wrap around him and keep him and never let him go. “Are you to be my believer, then? My follower, the one who holds the faith of me?”

“If I could. If I may, I will stay at your side, no matter what,” Díni sat up slowly, pulling him into his lap and pressing their foreheads together. “I will devote myself to worshiping the night sky if it will let me have you.”

Nychterinó laughed and wrapped his legs around him, holding him closer. “I will not part from you easily,” he brushed their noses together. “Not from the beautiful storm-maker.”

“ _I_ am beautiful?” Díni laughed at that, as if it were the most preposterous thing he had ever heard. “I behold before me a creature more lovely than any on this earth, a son of the night sky itself,” he leaned his head down, drawing Nychterinó’s arm up and pressing careful kisses to the white marks that looked like freckles on his arms. He paused, then did the same to the one on Nychterinó’s face, letting their noses press together. “You are the _son_ of the night sky,” he said again.

“As you have said, devotional and clear.”

“No,” Díni shook his head. “Your mother told you something that you have forgotten, your true name?” he took a deep breath, like they had reached the eye of the storm. “I think you are, perhaps, a godling. Born of a goddess.”

Nychterinó frowned, leaning back so he could study Díni’s face. “A goddess?”

“I grew to my adulthood hearing stories of a woman who had been courted by a visiting warrior. She had hair as black as night and eyes as bright as stars, stars that were mapped out on her skin. Her warrior, he begat a child and when her body became too frail, too little of a vessel to hold the goddess within, she shed her form and returned to the night sky where she belonged.” Díni curled his hands around Nychterinó’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Her child went with his father when she passed.”

As Nychterinó had gone with his father.

“The stories you grew up hearing,” Nychterinó pressed their foreheads together again. “Are related to the way my father loved my mother. He was a Varangian, worshiping a goddess named Nótt. He loved my mother fiercely, devoted himself to her both because he loved her and because he was convinced she was the human body of the goddess he worshiped.”

“I do not think he was _wrong_ ,” Díni whispered, reaching up to twirl a strand of black around his fingers. “You are the everlasting darkness, the blessed night. I think you are, perhaps, the son of the goddess.”

Nychterinó pulled away from him, eyes wide as he looked him in the face. “I…”

“Your teacher was a shade of what you are – a worshipper, perhaps. I have heard the stories of him, the way he tormented the ghost of Time when he was still learning his craft.” Díni let the hair unwrap from his hand and drift to join the rest of the bulk of black curls. “You are much more powerful than your teacher, even a simpleton such as I can see that.”

“You are no simpleton,” came the almost-automatic hiss of words.

“And you are your mother’s son,” Díni laughed, holding the god’s face in his hands. “I am almost certain I am right and that you are her child, that she is the goddess your sire thought her to be. I ask that you would let me practice worship, perhaps even in the same way he worshipped her.”

With his face exploding into embarrassed fire, Nychterinó nodded mutely, his eyes glinting like the stars themselves. “I would allow it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And 2nd chapter update for this one today: Have some Nocturne/Vortex. 
> 
> Because I am like that.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope it is okay that I incorporate xWocketx's characters of Dusk and Clockwise. I was rolling along and one day they became my personal headcanon because the idea of them is so cool. 
> 
> http : // xwocketx. deviantart. com/
> 
> http : // xwocketx. tumblr. com/


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